


Stargaze Point

by orphan_account



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Hogan is a Great Cook, So many cute things happening all at once, Starts off as a narrative but turns into a collection of one-shots, Summercamp AU, Sung is really supportive of trans youth and Small Gays, Swearing, bug bites n sunburns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 08:42:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11353893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After two months of touring, the Star Boys of TWRP are unemployed and looking forward to a few weeks of rest before getting back on the road again. At least, that's what Phobos, Hogan, and Meouch think. Sung clearly has different plans in mind when he signs them up as camp counselors for the one-month away camp called simply "Camp Stargaze Point".Boy, this should be fun.





	Stargaze Point

“Wanted: four camp counselors for youth wilderness camp ages 7-15. Must be trained in first-aid, basic survival skills, and have worked with children. On-site housing and food provided for one month.”

Sung read the paragraph aloud as he walked back in the door from getting the mail. It was cramped lettering, a black box of text shoved into the corner of the local summer-edition magazine he had ordered himself. The top of the advertisement read ‘Camp Stargaze Point’ accompanied by the logo of a mountain with three stars behind it. Underneath the logo was a landline number in small font. The spaceman nearly stubbed his toes on the kitchen door frame, eyes glued to the paper as he quickly set the rest of the mail down on the table.

It took Sung all of five minutes to ring up the camp owner (a tired-sounding middle aged man named Gary), fax him his credentials (accumulated over hundreds of years), and discuss on-site housing and payment. He talked rapidly, jotting down notes on a yellow paper pad he had hastily retrieved from one of the many nearby drawers. Finally Gary agreed; Sung was most qualified to be the head of the camp. After a few more minutes of arguing he finally got him to agree that his 3 other friends were equally well-trained and deserved the remaining camp counselor spots. After a quick goodbye, Sung hung up with a wide grin, holding up the yellow paper triumphantly.

“What, the Metropolitan Opera House ask up to play there tomorrow or something?” Grunted a voice behind him. Sung turned to see his best friend, Commander Meouch, struggled into the kitchen and trying to talk over the giant boxes filled with their busking equipment. Even when trying to balance 90 pound speakers, leave it to Meouch to observe Sung’s demeanor and make a snide remark. Phobos followed him in, his tiny form visibly bent over in exhaustion from unloading their tour van. They had just finished travelling the country for two months, and Phobos would clearly be happy to catch a break.

Sung’s smile widened impossibly. “We’re employed!” he called loudly and presented Meouch the ad with pride. Meouch took it warily. As he read it, his eyes grew wider and wider, panic visible on his face. He slammed down the boxes on the table with more force than necessary, making Phobos jump.

“Please, please tell me you’re joking, doc.” Meouch said quietly while pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a steadying breath to stabilize his sleep deprived brain, then pointed to the ad with one clawed finger. “This shit isn’t funny. I hate kids. I hate hot weather. And most of all, I HATE away camps.”

“Well, better get used to loving them!” Sung replied, seemingly oblivious to the waves of distress that were now rolling off his feline friend, “Cuz we got a bus to catch in one hour!”

This sentence made Phobos stand upright angrily from his floor position of unpacking a large bag. _One hour?_ He signed. _We just got home! After TWO MONTHS!_

Sung nodded brightly in reply before turning heel and making a beeline for his room to pack a suitcase. Hogan walked into the kitchen in enough time to see Meouch making strangling motions at Sung’s retreating form, and to see Phobos throw his hands up in the air in exasperation and fold cross-legged to the floor, masked head in his hands. The drummer bot picked up the ad on the table with two large fingers with apprehension: whatever had just caused this total band collapse had something to do with this note. He read the entire thing in silence as Meouch walked after Sung and attempted to fight his executive decision to no avail (“You never go outside, Meouch! The fresh air will be great for you!”). After finishing it (as well as the bus schedule on the back), Hogan runs a large hand over his face in exasperation. Now, Hogan’s not one to feel a wide and extremely complex range of emotions. He prides himself on that. So when he feels something, he knows it’s important. And right now, gazing at the exhausted Phobos on the floor contemplating managing an army of small kids for a month, he feels nothing but dread.

“Hurry up and get packing, we have a greyhound to catch in FORTY-FIVE MINUTES!” Comes Sung’s muffled shriek from upstairs, and Phobos stands himself upright with a low groan of exasperation.

Ok, so Hogan doesn’t feel just dread now. A little anger in there too. The bot picks up the huge boxes from the table and heads to his private room, patting Phobos sympathetically on the back as he passes him.

 

* * *

 

Forty minutes later they’re all squished onto one little bus stop bench, four duffel-bags jam-packed with clothing and essentials at their feet. Hogan, Phobos, and Meouch all sit in grumpy silence as Sung whistles a jaunty tune into the warm evening air, accompanied by crickets. “Are you all excited? I’m so excited.” He asks, foot tapping irritatingly on the cracked pavement. The rest of the band just stares coldly at him, saying nothing until Hogan’s text-to-speech voice clicks online. “Yes,” It deadpans, “We are exuberant.”

“…Is there any way to back out of this contract?” Meouch asks for the third time in the past hour. His claws extend and retract angrily as he white-knuckle clutches the hem of his vest, running his thumb over the worn edge in the fading sunlight.

“Nope!” Sung replies as he pulls a stick of gum out from his bag, “If we did we’d be sued for child endangerment, and fined heavily. Besides, who would ever want to back out of such an AWESOME job?”

“You know, I may actually have to kill you someday.” Meouch says evenly, but his threat is lost in the rumble of a battered greyhound bus pulling up to the stop. All four members of the band stand up and heave their bags onto their backs. Before he knows what’s happening, Phobos is yanked up, paid for, and slammed back down into a scratchy bus seat, duffel bag dropped squarely in his lap. He gives a disgruntled huff and leans his elbow on the windowsill, watching the last bits of pink and orange light dance across the suburban roofs of their town before it fades to twilight. Hogan sits down next to him, taking all of 10 seconds to set down his bag between his legs, fold his hands in his lap, and power-down in anticipation for the 3 hour ride ahead. Phobos sighs and pops his headphones in under his helmet, listening to the soft voice of Jack Johnson as the bus begins to move, trying to block out the constant chatter Sung is trying to engage Meouch in in the seats behind him. He made a mental note to grabs some wax earplugs when they stopped at a gas station.

It was going to be a very difficult month.


End file.
